Firestorm
by WitchwithKids
Summary: Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm wanted to forget the filthy Imperial woman who had escaped Helgen with one of his best soldiers. But when she returns in the dead of winter as the Last Dragonborn of legend, he can't help but wonder if their lives had become destined to intertwine on that fateful afternoon. F!Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak pairing. "M" for war scenarios and adult relations.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

17 Last Seed

"I thought they were only legends!"

"Legends don't burn down villages." There was ice in his voice. Cold, he had been called, and perhaps those who referred to him as such were right. Ulfric Stormcloak was the impenetrable glacier of calm in a raging maelstrom of chaos. And the particular variety of chaos he now faced was laying waste to Helgen while Ralof attempted to play hero to the woman who had escaped execution mere moments beforehand.

Ulfric looked down at the offending female and chuffed in frustration. Too dark to be a Nord, too fair to be Redguard. And beneath the gore, grime and bruises, too pretty to be a Breton. He grunted again. A damned Imperial.

"We need to keep moving," Ralof continued, his voice tinged with panic. It was the first logical suggestion the man had made since the dragon attacked. A quick look around the room gave them no other options. Up the stairs they went. The woman scarcely made it past the window on the second level when a burst of fire separated them and destroyed the stairwell.

"You'll have to jump," the soldier told her. She looked at him apprehensively, gesturing at the window with her still-bound wrists. "The adjoining roof should hold. We'll meet you at the guard tower."

Her gaze shifted, resting briefly on the Jarl of Windhelm, and he held it. Ulfric didn't want to care about the fate of this woman. He didn't have time for it. But there was something about the stubborn and defiant look in her eyes that clearly stated he hadn't seen the last of her.

Like a flash, she was gone.

"You're not really going to risk our necks for a piece of ass, are you?" he asked Ralof as they retreated down the stairs and back out to the courtyard. The corpse of a soldier sprawled across the threshold, and Ulfric took a sword from its charred death-grip.

"More of your troops are being held inside. If I can get them out, we'll resupply in Riverwood and join back up with the nearest camp."

"And the female?"

"A looker, aye, but she's no slouch." They dodged another bout of flame, and skirted along the edge of the wall. There was a breach up ahead, and Ulfric could see a few of his own soldiers on the other side. "Hands are calloused, from either labor or weapon training. Since the Empire saw fit to capture one of their own, maybe she'll be persuaded to join the cause."

"We'll see," was all Ulfric said in reply. He knew it was time for him to part ways with Ralof, and his men were waiting to take him back to Windhelm. "Get to the tower. Free our soldiers. Fight well or die well."

"If you do not see me on the field of battle, I will meet you in Sovngarde."

Ralof nodded in farewell before disappearing into the smoke and destruction. Ulfric didn't envy the man his task, but it would be better for his captive soldiers to die fighting than crushed and burned in a stone prison. And the woman...

_Miri_, his memory teased, bringing up those final moments of calm before the dragon cut her execution short. Scanning the courtyard, he caught the flash of sun on her golden brown hair as she made her own way to the tower. Miri paused briefly, crouching near a mauled body and dipping a finger into the blood that was pooling beneath it, no easy task for a person with bound hands. Lifting the finger to her face, she traced a pattern that Ulfric couldn't see clearly at first. And then she turned to face him.

House Ignis. A noble family from the Imperial City that had been exiled and hunted for their refusal to give up the worship of Talos following The Great War. And the last known distant relations of the diluted Septim bloodline.

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****Disclaimer** "Skyrim" and familiar characters are property of Bethesda.**

**A/N: Just a quick tease for the opener. My Bioware ship crashed after hitting a patch of writer's block and I'm treading water in the unfamiliar ocean of Elder Scrolls. Future installments will be considerably longer, I promise. :)**


	2. Chapter 1: Settling

_**Chapter One: Settling**_

Windhelm, 8 Heartfire

It crept into his dreams, the subtle and ever-present undertones of the Greybeards' teachings. He could always hear them, having once been a student of the Voice himself, but Ulfric had learned to block them out after a few years of practice. Yet there was something different about the power pinging against his skull as he trudged through the haze of sleep to come fully awake.

The source had a ring of familiarity. Not one of his old masters, that he knew with certainty. For the first time in decades, Ulfric placed himself in the meditative state that would attune him to the Voice, to the Thu'um, of whomever had disturbed his sleep.

The scent of blood and charred flesh assaulted him, nearly breaking Ulfric's concentration. He hadn't forgotten the stench that accompanied the dragon's attack on Helgen, but the power held him steady. Forced him to feel the spirit of the beast that now lay dead and rapidly decaying as it launched itself into the armored figure who had slain the creature. Ulfric had no clear Sight, having never completed his training with the Greybeards, but he understood that the only way to truly kill a dragon was to absorb its soul. That only a mortal born from legend and prophesy could accomplish that particular task. Which could mean only one thing.

_DOVAHKIIN_

The combined Thu'um of the Greybeards shook Ulfric from his meditation and confirmed what he had concluded. The Last Dragonborn. Now fully awake, the Jarl of Windhelm rose from bed and grabbed his dressing robe from the bedpost. There was no use in wasting time, even if it was still hours away from dawn.

He needed to send word to his scouts to be on the lookout for the Dragonborn. It was possible, depending on who the individual turned out to be, that they would heed the call of the Greybeards and make haste for High Hrothgar. If they could be convinced to join the Stormcloaks, Ulfric would have a valuable and powerful ally on his side.

Cursing his inefficient Sight, he did his best to describe what to look for. The dragons that had been plaguing Skyrim would certainly be attracted to the Dovahkiin, but whether or not the person was young or old, man or woman, human or...otherwise, Ulfric could not say. He knew only that they had slain and absorbed the soul of a dragon, and that the pull of power came from somewhere to the southwest of Windhelm.

As he began to write his missives, the sound of thunder shook the windows, followed shortly by the unmistakeable sound of a downpour on the roof. The autumn rains had finally begun, a sure sign of an early snowfall. Within a week, the fields of Eastmarch would be bare. Within two, Ulfric would begin planning his campaign to oust the Empire from Skyrim in earnest.

The storm outside beat a comfortable drum, and he was able to complete his orders fairly swiftly. As he folded and sealed the papers, his hand rested on a small pile of books that Jorleif had brought in a few days prior. Ulfric had meant to get to them sooner, but freeing his people took priority over personal indulgence. At the moment, however, he found himself with time to spare, and picked up the volume at the top of the stack.

During the Great War, Ulfric had fought alongside Marius Ignis, the only son and heir to the Imperial noble house. He had been imprisoned with the patriarch, Tolin. Both men had eventually perished at the hands of the elves, but there was a daughter who was rumored to have escaped.

According to the journal that had been smuggled to Ulfric, the young woman was with child and had completely disappeared in the years following the war. It wasn't far-fetched that the child could be the same prisoner who had escaped from Helgen, or possibly even an older sibling of Miri's. The Imperial female had the look of the Ignis clan, a golden beauty that would certainly be enhanced with a bath and proper clothing. If Miri was the offspring in question, she was in her thirtieth year, much older than he had guessed her to be at first, but still young enough to be a mother herself.

The further he read into the lineages and accounts of House Ignis, the more Ulfric felt the need to find her. Skyrim needed to be free. It needed a High King. The king would need heirs. And who better to to produce those heirs than the Empire's lost child? It would be the coup-de-gras he needed to solidify Nord supremacy in Skyrim.

Allowing himself a small smirk of satisfaction, Ulfric put the books away and began writing a new set of orders to accompany the first. He would find her. Bed her. Wed her if necessary. And within a year, Ulfric would hear the lusty cries of his son ringing through the stone halls of the keep.

* * *

Whiterun, 9 Heartfire

It was almost tempting, buying the house. But she didn't want it. Wasn't ready for it. Owning a home meant putting down new roots, possibly starting a new family. But the wounds which had brought Miri to Skyrim in the first place still festered, and she could no sooner purchase Breezehome than she could part with whatever twist of fate had made her the Dragonborn.

_Gods,_ she thought as she made her way back across the field to where she had slain the creature. _I'm not prepared for **that**, either._

Everyone at the Jarl's keep had urged her to go to the Greybeards. In theory, it was a good idea. It would give Miri the information she needed on just what exactly it meant to be the Dragonborn. Oh, she had come to terms with it during her stay at the Bannered Mare, stewing over the events of the past moon-turn. The words of power. The dragon's soul. It made sense when all the pieces were put together.

She didn't want it. Hadn't asked for it. But there it was. Somehow, she was going to become this great hero from legend, and Miri hadn't the foggiest idea what she was going to do about it.

Scavengers, both the two- and four-legged varieties, had already been picking at the dragon's carcass by the time she forced herself to return to it. Miri hadn't given much thought to doing much more than retrieving her arrows the previous morning, but the hide was still good and she could save some pieces of it to work into armor when she had time to spare.

**If** she had time to spare. As a stranger to Skyrim, Miri found herself roped into all manner of petty squabbles, feuds and scavenger hunts. As she cut off strips of the dragon's tough, leathery skin, she contemplated the people she had met. A few congenial shopkeepers, a handful of residents who paid for her assistance now and again. One or two mercenaries she had been able to hire her more dangerous treks. None of them could be counted as friends.

"You planning to keep all that?"

The voice startled Miri from her thoughts, and she spun with one hand on her knife and the other glowing red with flame. Leaning against one of the dragon's legs was a woman in hide armor with a bow slung across her back. One of the Companions that Miri had assisted a few weeks prior when a giant was found plaguing one of the local farms. They'd extended her an invitation to visit with them, and possibly join their ranks, but time had gotten away from her.

Contemplating the woman's question, Miri looked at the pile of dragon hide that had been building while she brooded. She couldn't help but chuckle at the size of it. Certainly more than she could carry on her own.

"I suppose not. It's there. You're welcome to haul some off if you like."

"It's your kill, and your right to salvage what you can. But there's a smith I know who would be more than happy to trade with you for it, and I can help you get it to him."

"What's the catch?" There was always a catch.

"No catch. Ok, that's not entirely true." The woman smiled. It was a feral and mischievous grin, but she wore it well. "The Companions have had their eyes on you since you first set foot in Whiterun. We like what we've seen so far. So I'll help you haul the dragon skin up to the Skyforge, and afterward you talk to our Harbinger."

Miri battled internally with her decision to give in to the Companion's suggestion. She knew about the guild, of course. One couldn't spend more than a night or two in Whiterun without hearing about it. Free room and board. Steady work. Access to some of the finest weapons and armor on the continent. But still...would it mean settling down and making a home in Jorrvaskr when she was trying desperately to not let the dust settle under her feet just yet?

"We're not going to make you sign a contract in blood and force you to stay with us, you know," the huntress added, noticing Miri's distress. The lighthearted tone set her mind at ease, and finally Miri nodded.

She would join these Companions. It wouldn't be a home. Not truly. But she would have a place to return to when her adventures lulled. Friends to travel and share stories with. A far cry from a lonely room at the inn, and a good starting point towards building the new life she might one day be ready for.

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****Disclaimer** Playing in Bethesda's sandbox.**

**A/N: Thanks to those of you who followed and favorited my 700-something-word teaser. I didn't give you much to go by and you gave me the boost I needed to keep working on this. I really did intend to have this ready three days ago. But, alas, real life is the never-ending side-quest.**


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